(Human/Vampire Form. Mordecai)
"Mordi! You're on in ten!" The unpleasant shrill of his night manager's voice came clearly across the speaker in his dressing-room as Mordecai leaned back in his comfortable chair, and steepled his fingers in thought. This was his sixth concert on his "Sex, Blood, and Rock N' Roll" tour, and already he was bored. Bored with the songs, bored with the crowd, bored with the managers, bored with the rest of his band. Then again, being bored was sort of a staple of his existence. It was part of being a vampire. It was also part of being who he was in the limelight - his band, his persona, his calling - Bloodcross.
Licking his fangs, and worrying his left with his tongue, he rose from the chair and crossed to the vanity on the other side of the room. He peered into his reflection and saw someone he didn't recognize staring back at him. It wasn't the first time. His hair color changed daily, as he went through the shift in personalities onstage. It wasn't difficult, juggling the self and the showman, but it was tedious. This whole thing was tedium personified. He had more than enough money to do whatever he wanted, to whomever he wanted to. His fortune could buy him any house he cared to name. Yet... something was missing. Something that years on the rock circuit hadn't been able to quench.
Maybe that's why he was here. Whatever the case.
He took his time getting ready and snagged his special microphone on his way to the stage. The band was ready to go and understood that he was not exactly in the best of moods. They were smart. He liked that. Moving onto the stage, he heard his fans go wild and grinned widely. More cheers. There were vampires in this audience. He saw them. They saw him. Good. About time someone challenged the status quo.
The opening song took off on a soaring note, and he started to sing his hit single, "What I Crave" - the crowd especially liked the chorus. During the pause between songs for the cheering, he mentioned to one of the staff that he'd like someone to be chosen from the audience for... later. He was, after all, always a bit peckish after a long show.